King (Books of the Infinite Book #3)

by R. J. Larson

  Kien exhaled his relief. Until he saw the welcoming committee.

  Bryce and Prill rushed toward Ela and Kien, exultant. Followed by Lorteus, the royal fightmaster. An unpleasant grin widened in Lorteus’ battered face, and his voice grated harsh in Kien’s ears. “Welcome, sir! I’ve been sent ahead by order of our king to direct your recovery—seeing’s how you nearly died by failing to heed my lessons. Good of his majesty, isn’t it?”

  Oh yes. Killing good. Kien rested a hand on the Azurnite sword—just in case—and he managed to look stern. “Fine. But not now, Lorteus!”

  “Of course not, sir,” Lorteus agreed flatly. “Tonight, I clean the weapons. At dawn, I’ll fetch you for work—to overcome your failure. Be ready.”

  As Ela linked her arm in his, Kien hissed, “He’s going to kill me!”

  “Hmm.” Ela smiled and hugged him while they crossed the courtyard. “We think he’s already done some good, sir. You’re walking faster now.”

  Kien bit down a smile—which Ela undoubtedly saw—and he grumbled, “It’s a sad thing when my own family sides with my tormentor!” Before he’d limped into the manor’s doorway, Kien had fully composed a letter of protest to Akabe, with mock-promises of revenge.

  “Majesty.” Master Croleut’s mannerly tone permeated Akabe’s private study. “Lord Siymont has arrived, with his mother.”

  Akabe nodded at the portly tutor. “Thank you, Master Croleut. Show them in.” Akabe exhaled quietly, covered his ink jar and returned his pen to its gilded tray. His formal complaint to Bel-Tygeon could wait. Akabe turned his chair but remained seated, determined not to intimidate Siphra’s youngest lord, or his mother.

  Barth sidled into the study, neatly clothed and combed, but sadly downcast as if he’d been asked to carry the entire world on his small shoulders. A sensation Akabe remembered all too well after his family’s deaths. A dark-clad noblewoman followed Barth, her face haggard with obvious melancholy and muted resentment. Had Lady Siymont known of her husband’s plans? No proof had been found, yet Akabe wouldn’t be surprised. He cleared his throat. “Sir. Come here.”

  After a wary glance at his mother, Barth crossed the study slowly, staring at Akabe as if doubting what he saw. A few paces off from Akabe, the boy halted and bowed. His tone fearful, he whispered, “Majesty.” He straightened and swallowed hard.

  Akabe held out a hand. “I’ve been worried about you, Barth—I’m glad to see you.”

  “Sir.” Barth accepted the handshake. “I’m glad to see you too.” As if hesitant to mention the subject, the boy looked down at the tiled floor. “I was afraid you were dead.”

  “I’m not.”

  “They said my lord-father tried to kill you, but he died instead.”

  Akabe could just imagine who they were. Wretched gossiping courtiers! “And how did you feel about that, sir?”

  The boy’s face puckered. He looked down again, shaking his head. And he sniffled.

  Beyond enduring, that sniffle. Akabe looped an arm around the little lord’s shoulders in a fierce hug, but the consolation failed. Barth sobbed into Akabe’s shoulder. Loudly—all his heartbreak mingled with those sobs. Near the door, his mother stared, then burst into tears. Akabe mourned with them. If nothing else, he prayed for Barth to regain his spirit and, hopefully, learn to trust the Infinite.

  At last, Akabe shook the boy kindly. “Barth, whatever anyone’s said, you’re not to be blamed—believe me! And if you ever wish to speak of your lord-father, I’ll listen. As long as you don’t neglect your lessons with Master Croleut.”

  “But they said I couldn’t stay here.”

  “I say you can. And whenever they say something that concerns you, my lord, you come talk to me—I command it.”

  Barth sniffled again and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Yes, sir.”

  Later, Akabe resolved, they’d discuss wiping noses on sleeves while ladies were present.

  To Lady Siymont, Akabe said, “The Infinite requires that I forgive you as He forgives—completely and with perfect mercy. For your son’s sake and for Siphra’s, lady, I request peace.”

  Lady Siymont straightened, wiping her tears. “It may not be a perfect peace, Majesty. Yet we’ll attempt it.”

  “Thank you.” Akabe mussed Barth’s hair, provoking a gap-toothed smile from the little boy. Reassuring.

  And Lady Siymont’s hostility had faded somewhat. Perhaps work on the Infinite’s Holy House could proceed undisturbed.

  Infinite, I beg You, let it be so!

  Wearing crimson robes and a gem-studded tiara—and protected by her guards—Caitria eyed Ruestock as he entered the reception room. The elegant lord approached, clad in rich green robes and gold rings, his dark hair sleeked back beneath a gold circlet, his arrogant face showing a mocking half-smile. Obviously the meddlesome nobleman was gloating at the sight of her as queen and congratulating himself on the success of his own schemes.

  Caitria winced inwardly, wishing for the thousandth time that he couldn’t claim kinship with her.

  Ruestock bowed, his glance caressing and admiring her inappropriately, even now. “Majesty, you surpass every ideal as our queen.”

  Remembering Akabe’s counsel following his visit with Lady Siymont and Barth, Caitria forced herself to remain pleasant. “Lord Ruestock, if you seek a place in my husband’s court, we must be honest. I loathe flattery, so please restrain yourself.”

  He smiled. “I will try, Majesty. But it is no flattery to tell you how delighted I was to receive your summons. In whatever you command, I am your most humble servant.”

  Oh, no doubt—until she interfered with his ambition. To honor the Infinite and her husband, Caitria bit down her sarcastic impulses. “Thank you. My request is simple. We know you have ties to the Ateans. Persuade them, for the sake of Siphra and for the many lives already lost, that we must have peace.”

  His smile vanished. Eyes cooling, he asked, “Do you expect me to neutralize their presence entirely?”

  “We don’t believe that all will be persuaded, no. But isn’t the Atean leadership now greatly diminished and in turmoil?”

  A bit of admiration crept into his face and tone. “Majesty, you surprise me. Queen for only a few months and you have recruited spies.”

  “Yes.” Through Barth and Lady Siymont, whom she intended to protect. “Which is how I also know you didn’t take part in the plot against my lord-husband.” Curious, she asked, “Why didn’t you? I thought you loathed the king.”

  She saw the conflict play out over his face. Wariness, discomfort, even a trace of amusement. Now, as serious as she’d ever seen him, Ruestock said, “Let us say that I have had dealings with the Infinite, and given the prophet’s warning, I’ve no wish to provoke Him. It seems He protects the king and I bow to His Divine might, though I prefer to continue our family’s traditional worship without . . .” Ruestock chose his next words carefully, “ . . . priestly restrictions.”

  Our family’s traditional worship? Ha. He’d experienced the Infinite’s might firsthand and still wished to flirt with the mortal-created Atea? “That choice is yours. He waits for you, sir, if you ever change your mind, and He is concerned for you. I speak from my own experience.”

  “Yes, well . . . Suffice it to say, Majesty, if it pleases you to do so, then who am I to argue?” He bowed again, then threw her a smirk. “Above all, consider me your servant. I will speak to those you have mentioned and sway them to the best of my meager powers.”

  For some reward to be collected at a later date? Caitria sighed and dismissed him. “Thank you, my lord. I’ll trouble you no further.”

  Ruestock departed, and Caitria’s father sent in word that he’d arrived. Heart pounding, unable to believe they’d found him alive, she nodded to the servant, who immediately escorted Cyan Thaenfall inside.

  Caitria lifted her chin, trying to remain calm. Her father paused, looked her up and down, eyed the guards, then approached, his gold-edged green robes lifting with his swift pace.
Did she imagine these past few months had aged him? He looked thinner, with more silver hair at his temples. Yet nothing could touch his ever-present Thaenfall arrogance and that chilly composure. An arm’s length away, he halted, hesitated, then bowed with fluid elegance.

  For an instant, she considered removing her tiara, then squelched the notion. “Sir.”

  “Majesty.” And he smiled, with pride, not warmth. “You look a proper queen.”

  “I’m glad you’re pleased, sir. And I’m glad you’re safe.” Her throat dried. She swallowed and forced herself to continue. “You have no clue what your ambition has done.”

  Father’s eyes narrowed. “Is he setting you aside?”

  “No, sir. We love each other.”

  “Then why have you summoned me—guarded as if I’m some felon?”

  Infinite . . . why couldn’t Father behave as a father and be glad to see her? His coldness would tear her to pieces if she allowed it. Caitria straightened. “The king has ordered guards to attend me and, given recent events, I won’t argue with him.” Even so, she led him to the other side of the room, allowing the guards to protect her, without overhearing. Her question must not be gossip-fodder for courtiers. “Sir, in confidence, have you ever plotted against my husband?”

  A corner of his mouth lifted. After a pause, he said, “Before you became queen, yes. Afterward, no. I am not such a fool.” He looked her up and down again. “Are you with child?”

  She prayed so. It had been four weeks since her return to Akabe in the DaromKhor Hills, and she had reason to hope. But she wasn’t about to enlighten her father. Not before she told Akabe. “Time will tell, sir.”

  “I say you are.” His eyes shone. “To think that one of my daughters will give me such a legacy—I will be the grandfather of a king!”

  “What about being the father of a queen? Or of a daughter who has always loved you?”

  The question surprised him. “What are you talking about?”

  Caitria shook her head, giving up. “Never mind, sir. I pray the Infinite blesses you and Cyril.”

  “The Infinite?” His stunned look would have been comical if she weren’t so upset.

  Well, what had he expected when he threw her into the arms of the Infinite’s anointed and faithful king? Really! It was enough to make her indulge in a royal tantrum and send him away for such . . . such . . .

  Wait.

  Now that she thought of it, Father couldn’t leave her presence until she dismissed him. Ha! Oh, she would be sure he understood protocol! She was the queen, and she had a captive audience! Elated by the realization, Caitria tucked her hand into the crook of her father’s arm. “Walk with me, sir, I command you. I have so much to tell you—this could take days.”

  Ela settled back against her pillows, as her mother, her former chaperones, Tamri Het and Matron Prill, and Ara Lantec chattered around her. Ignoring them, Ela smiled, lost in adoration of her wide-eyed infant son. Caed. Had any baby boy ever been so handsome? Not likely. With the exception of Kien.

  Ara Lantec’s cooing voice broke through Ela’s doting reverie. “Oh, Ela dear, isn’t he perfect?”

  “Yes, he looks so much like his father.” Mesmerized, Ela shifted against her pillows and studied Caed. He stared at her in turn—his tiny face quizzical, as if preparing to question her about everything. Dear, beautiful baby boy! She could never tire of gazing at his dark blue eyes—surely they’d turn gray like Kien’s. Would she live long enough to hear Caed talk? To see him play and laugh and learn about the Infinite?

  Grief tightened Ela’s throat and tears threatened.

  Her mother leaned over them now, smiling. “He looks like you too, Ela. And Jess—look at his curls!” Kalme fluffed Caed’s dark hair, making him blink. Ela blinked as well, fighting back tears.

  Finished placing a kettle of soup at the chamber’s hearth, Matron Prill straightened and frowned. “Ela, for mercy’s sake, why are you crying?”

  Ela swiped at her tear-streaked face. “I’m remembering Parne’s prophets—‘A silver-haired prophet has failed.’ Do you suppose my little boy will remember me?”

  “Of course he will! Goodness, Ela, you’re a long way from finishing your work in Aeyrievale and Siphra, let me tell you!”

  “Prill, you don’t know for certain.”

  Sitting tentatively on the edge of the bed, Kalme soothed, “Ela, stop! Hasn’t my fear taught you anything? You’ll make yourself sick with worry!” She hugged Ela now. “Listen to your mother who loves you. What if the Infinite intends that you never become silver-haired?”

  Infinite? Wait . . . don’t answer!

  She couldn’t bear to know. Mother was right—she mustn’t make herself sick with worry. Sniffing back the rest of her tears, she kissed Caed’s baby-soft curls and snuggled him close.

  Voices and laughter from outside made her look toward the terrace doorway. Kien’s sister, Beka Thel, marched in, holding her nine-month-old daughter, Aliys. Rosy from her walk in the chilly late-winter air, Beka beamed. “Ela, Aeyrievale’s so charming that I could live here forever!”

  Kien’s voice taunted from beyond the doorway, “I doubt it—you’d be bored and missing East Guard’s political affairs within a week.” He strode inside with only a hint of a limp, carrying Ela’s baby brother, Jess, on his shoulders.

  Delighted, Jess whooped and tugged at Kien’s hair, making Ela smile. Kalme laughed and hurried to take charge of her son.

  Beka scowled at her brother. “You have such an opinion of me! That’s the thanks I receive for championing your adoption petition through the uproar in the Grand Assembly.”

  “Children,” Ara stood, scolding tenderly, “Don’t fight—you’re spoiling my visit.”

  Beka settled herself primly at the foot of Ela’s bed. “I was happy until he said something.”

  Kien landed a kiss on his sister’s perfectly arranged hair. “Oh, fine! I apologize if I upset you. Enough pretend sulking.”

  “Who’s pretending?”

  As Beka unwrapped the pink-cheeked Aliys, Kien took possession of his mother’s vacated spot on the bed. His expression softening, he ran a knuckle lightly along Caed’s round cheek, then leaned over and kissed Ela’s lips—so tenderly that if she’d been standing she would have swooned, she was sure.

  Nose to nose with her, his gray eyes shining, Kien whispered, “Thank you, love!”

  “You’re welcome,” Ela murmured. “But you should thank the Infinite instead.”

  As should she.

  “Yes, Prophet, I do—and I always will.” He straightened and grinned, reaching for his son. “Are you finished with him for now? May I take him outside?”

  Ara complained, “Kien, darling, it’s cold enough to snow—Caed is not a toy.”

  “Yes he is! Besides, Father and Dan sent me to retrieve him. They’ve decided you’ve had Caed long enough, and everyone in the village wants to see him. I’ll bundle him up snugly . . . if someone will show me how.”

  While Ara, Tamri, and Prill wrapped Caed in extra robes, a warm little cap, and an Aeyrievale fleece, Kien leaned toward Ela again. “Next time, I want a Tzana with big brown eyes and a bad temper like her mother’s. She’ll be perfect.”

  Tzana. The mention of her departed little sister’s name wrung Ela’s heart. Thankfully, Mother was chasing Jess through the chamber and hadn’t heard. Just hearing Tzana’s name made Kalme sigh and grieve. Before Ela could respond to her husband’s plan for “next time,” Kien was crooning warmly to the unsuspecting Caed, “Come with me, son! The destroyers are waiting to meet you, and we must discuss swords and lessons with Lorteus—you’ll enjoy hating him.”

  “Ela.” Prill’s words dripped with disapproval as Kien swept out of the room with Caed. “You have no choice but to live and keep those two out of trouble!”

  “I pray you’re right.” Exhausted, Ela closed her eyes. Infinite? Forgive me, but I must ask . . . what will happen?

  He answered, not with words, but with an image t
hat took her breath away and made her smile. She entered the vision with joy, approaching His Holy House.

  Infinite? Bless You!

  EPILOGUE

  Akabe’s soul lifted in exultation as he guided his chariot along Munra’s crowded, banner-draped main thoroughfare, his people cheering him onward. Five years of unrelenting work had led to this day—this dream come to life.

  Trumpets blared, calling worshipers toward the temple for its dedication. All along the way, he prayed under his breath, “Infinite, though nothing built by mortals can contain You, let Your Spirit be present here! Let Siphra’s heart be turned toward You whenever they see this Holy House! Let those who have rebelled against Your way and Your love be moved to repent and call upon You!”

  He stepped from his chariot and looked up at the magnificent gold-crowned white marble temple, amazed by the fragrance of incense that swept down to enfold him before he’d even approached the steps. There he paused to greet Siphra’s new high priest, Ishvah Nesac, and the temple’s servants and workers.

  The temple’s chief stone mason, Dan Roeh, father of Siphra’s most eminent prophet, beamed at him—the smile of a man who has realized a lifetime dream. Akabe grinned and nodded at Dan in perfect understanding.

  Ela Lantec, holding the lively little Tzana in her arms, waited nearby with Kien—now Siphra’s ambassador to the Tracelands. Before them, Barth stood at attention with remarkable eleven-year-old patience, guarding young Caed Lantec, who wielded his blunted miniature sword, clearly ready to charge at the temple. Adventure-prone as his illustrious parents.

  After today’s dedication, Barth would depart with Ela and Kien to train in courtly service to Aeyrievale and Siphra. Akabe saluted the boy, proud of him as any parent.